


Stray Puppies

by grydo2life



Category: 28 Weeks Later, Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, every character Jeremy Renner has ever played is actually hawkeye, idek anymore, sort of spoilers for 28WL but come on it came out in 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle died that day in London. Clint is the one that has to live with everything that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stray Puppies

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently rewatched 28 Weeks Later for maybe the third or fourth time. Only this time I watched it with the headcanon that every character Jeremy Renner has ever played is actually Hawkeye. Which spawned... ideas, which joined the already nagged thought that if Doyle had survived, he probably would have spent the rest of his life looking out for those kids.
> 
> Takes place way before The Avengers movie, and is a brief AU for the ending of 28 Weeks Later, in that Andy was never bitten and the infection was (eventually) contained and exterminated.
> 
> You NEED to have seen 28 Weeks Later for any of this to make sense. Or at least go read the [wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/28_Weeks_Later) page summary. Avengers knowledge probably wouldn't hurt either.
> 
> Enjoy.

Andy’s grown.

Clint’s not sure why that still surprises him. He watched it happen. In short bursts every few months, admittedly, but it’s not like it was a sudden thing. He really shouldn’t be so shocked when he peers through his scope (monocular, not rifle, and that’s something else that still catches him off guard) and spies a lanky 17 year old seated at an island counter. But he still has that first image of a floppy-haired 12 year old frozen in his mind, and he can’t seem to reconcile the two, no matter how many times he looks.

He doesn’t have this problem with Tammy, but in some odd way that makes sense. She’d already been nearly full-grown by the time they’d met, if you could call _that_ a meeting. All of the changes in her over the years have been subtle, or just beneath the surface.

Not like Andy, who shot up like a weed when he hit 14 and now he’s taller than his sister and filling out _college applications_ , Christ. 

And maybe that’s why he has so much trouble with… this. Clint’s not exactly a soldier – he can pretend to be one, make it look good and real, but it’s not who he _is_ , and he can never change that – but he knows a thing or two about picking up the pieces and moving on; about shouldering grief and horror and trauma and pushing ahead anyway. 

He also knows that there are some things you just don’t fucking get over. Running through the empty, dark streets of a city, dodging gunfire and blood and people who aren’t really _people_ anymore, living with the terror that at any moment you could join them? That’s one of them.

Some part of him is still there. It’s the same part, he thinks, that still expects to see terrified wide-eyes, brown and green (fuck, _Scarlet_ , she’d been the one to point that out,) and blood-stained skin when he looks down from his perch into the west-facing windows of a third floor New York apartment. It’s the part that can’t wrap his head around the healthy, living, _breathing_ teenager he sees instead.

Andy straightens up suddenly, twists his head around and Clint gets a brief glimpse at his face, smiling and bright. Tammy’s home. It takes her a moment, but eventually she crosses into the kitchen and into Clint’s line of view, and Clint feels his breath catch at the sight of her. 

He’d been wrong, earlier; she has grown, just in different ways. She’s filled out, soft curves where awkward angles had been as a teenager; her face is thinner, more adult-like. Her hair is darker now – dyed, because three months ago it had still been closer to blonde. Brunette looks good on her. The hospital scrubs don’t do much to flatter her, but seeing them makes something like pride twinge in Clint’s chest. He’s seen her school transcripts (hacked them, really, but the difference is moot); pre-med is working out well for her. She’s going to make a hell of a doctor someday. 

Scarlet would have been proud. That thought hurts, though, so he forces it to the back of his mind.

“You could always go talk to them,” a voice says from behind him, and Clint doesn’t start, doesn’t even flinch; just lowers his scope and uses his eyes instead. Something warm presses against his cheek, and he reaches up to take the hot Styrofoam cup as Coulson settles in beside him. 

“SHIELD regulations state that once an alias has been burned—” He pauses, deliberately avoids the cringe that nearly comes at that phrasing, continues on with an exhale, “—it can never be revived.”

Coulson gives him a look that he refuses to interpret. The role-reversal feels strange. “I was talking about Clint Barton.”

Clint smiles humorlessly. “There’s regulations against that, too.” And then, just because he’s a bit of a dick even on his best day, “I figured you’d know that, sir, what with you being the one to drill it into _my_ brain. Never took you for the fast and loose type.”

Coulson swats him, but not hard. “Those regulations are in place to keep insane South African war lords from tracking agents down and eviscerating them in their sleep.” As creative as that is, Clint is pretty sure it’s taken from a real example, which sucks any humor right out of it. “Not… children mourning a hero that isn’t actually dead.” 

Clint’s mouth twists into something unpleasant. He hides it by sipping his coffee. “I’m no hero, Coulson.”

Coulson frowns, and Clint can feel the disapproval in his stare without actually looking. He doesn’t really know what to _do_ with that – he’s never had someone that wanted to save him from himself before, and Coulson’s been trying since well before London. 

“I think they would beg to differ,” Coulson says at last.

Clint says nothing, just absently presses a hand against his thigh. He’s still got a few scars, burned and twisted skin spider-webbed there and across his back; the worst bits left over from where not even SHIELD’s most advanced medical equipment could make them disappear completely. Considering the miracle it is that he lived through it at all, Clint’s never really thought to complain about them. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, passing the coffee back and forth between them. Clint keeps his eyes locked onto the apartment and Coulson waits patiently, knowing better than to push.

Finally, Clint sighs. “I just don’t want to be the thing that drags it all back up for them,” he admits softly. 

Coulson’s look is gentle, his tone kind, when he says, “You saved their lives, Clint. And, to the best of their knowledge, you died doing so. That doesn’t come without a certain amount of guilt.” Clint flinches. Coulson presses on, like he didn’t see, “Knowing you’re alive might go a long way to fixing that.”

He’s not just talking about the kids. Clint knows because he’s thought about this himself. So many times, he’s wondered if it might ease the burden just a bit, speaking with them, telling them the truth. If it would help with the guilt, the nightmares, the faces he still sees in the dark some nights. He saved their lives, and he knows it counts for something, but some part of him has always felt he could have done more. 

He was SHIELD, not some foot solider. He could have stopped it. He _should_ have stopped it.

“Stop.” Coulson commands, and Clint realizes he’s crushed the cup without meaning to. “You have to stop punishing yourself over this, Clint. It wasn’t your fault.”

Clint grimaces as Coulson pries the cup away, pulls out a stack of napkins (because Phil Coulson is never unprepared) and starts to wipe away the coffee dripping off his fingers. “Yeah,” he says, although it lacks conviction. Coulson sighs, though, and doesn’t say another word about it. 

He stays with Clint, and together they sit there until the sun comes down.

They only leave when Tammy closes the curtains.

**Author's Note:**

> The title, by the way, is a reference to a line in 28 Weeks Later, where Doyle refers to Tam and Andy as strays. For those who haven't seen/don't remember.


End file.
